From the Mouths of Children
by detective-sweetheart
Summary: It's almost funny how innocent their questions are, he thinks, and wishes that it would stay that way.


**A/N: Missing scene/post-ep thing for Countdown if you look. SVU's not mine. **

* * *

He misses the birthday party.

What annoys him about it is that he'd been so determined to actually be there this time that he'd actually thought he'd be able to. And then this case popped up, and he'd found himself torn between work and family, once again. The ironic thing about it is that lately, it's seemed to be happening more and more.

She brings them by the precinct after it's over, so they can at least know that he meant to be there. Somehow it doesn't seem like enough.

At home, when it's over, there are the remnants of what went on, even though it's at least two days later. He's lost track. And he stayed at the precinct after going to notify that last family that their child's body had been found, because somehow, he didn't think going home would be right. Twisted logic, he knows, especially since at that point, he'd wanted nothing more than to go home and hug his own kids, but he'd stayed away until he felt it was safe to cross the bridge.

It's late. No one else is awake. Elliot finds it somewhat ironic than when he's home and awake, everyone else is sleeping, and when he's home and asleep, everyone else is awake and doing their own thing. He sits at the table in the darkness, not wanting to move, but knowing that at some point, he's going to have to.

And then the lights go on. He'd heard the footsteps, so he doesn't jump, but the figure he sees standing in the doorway to the kitchen isn't the one he expected.

"Hi," says Elizabeth, apparently completely unaware that something isn't right. If only they stayed that innocent, Elliot thinks, wryly.

"Hey, you," he says, and looks at the clock. "What're you doing up?"

She shrugs. "I don't know," she replies. "Just woke up."

And with that simple answer, she wanders over to the refrigerator, going up onto her toes so she can reach the orange juice on the top shelf. "Can you get me a cup?" she asks, and Elliot rises to his feet to do just that.

"How come you're up so late?" Elizabeth asks, once she's taken the first sip of orange juice. He sighs.

"Just got home," he replies. "Let me have some of that."

She hands him the glass, coming to sit in the chair across from his at the table. He downs half of what's left in one swallow. She gives him a look.

"Y'know, you could've just asked me to pour you a glass," she says, taking the cup back, and then, "Are you and Mom mad at each other?"

Elliot gives her a startled look. "Not that I know of," he says. "Why d'you ask?"

Elizabeth shrugs. "Just wondering," she says. "You've never stayed at work that long before."

She still knows nothing about how some cases can get to the point where none of the detectives can leave until they get something that will lead them in the right direction. For this, he's grateful for. But he wonders at the same time, how long it will last.

"Well, I'm not mad at Mom," he says. "It was just work, that's all. Sometimes it takes a lot longer than we want it to."

"Oh." Elizabeth catches her glass just in time as it starts tipping over after she bumps it harder than she meant to. "But why does it take so long?"

She's going to become a cop someday, says one voice in the back of his mind. Another one argues back. Over my dead body.

"We can't always find what we're looking for," he replies, after a moment. It is the easiest answer to give, and the one that will give away hardly anything. But Elizabeth doesn't seem satisfied.

"Are the other people better at hiding than cops are at finding them?" she asks, and Elliot sighs.

"Sometimes they are," he tells her. "But they're not always good enough."

"And you and Liv and Munch and Fin…you always find 'em, right?"

He hasn't expected her to remember Fin, and the fact that she's noticed there's a new detective in the squad makes him laugh.

"Yeah, we do," he says, even though he knows that sometimes, they don't. But she's only eight, and she doesn't need to know this. "Let me see your cup."

She hands the empty container over to him and he gets up, wanting a glass of orange juice for himself. He reaches out and flips on the radio as he leans back against the counter, and realizes someone must have left it on one of those stations that plays instrumental music at night.

Elizabeth gets up, after a moment, and walks over to where he's standing, poking him in the side to get his attention, but she doesn't have to ask what's on her mind. He sets the glass down and picks her up, and waltzes around the kitchen, swinging her out as he does, and making her laugh.

This continues for a while. He doesn't notice the time when he finally carries her upstairs, because she's already fallen asleep, and it doesn't matter.

Later on, while he's still awake and staring at the shadows on the ceiling, listening to Kathy's even breathing beside him, he realizes that the strangest things always seem to come from the mouths of children…particularly his own.


End file.
